by Scott O'dell
When I sat down, Mr. Weiss whispered across the table, "Don't forget that you finished the race. Thirty-six mushers out of the seventy-one who started didn't finish."
"I'm proud of the red lantern," I said and half believed it.
My father beamed. I didn't think he was surprised that I had finished. My mother grasped my hand under the table and held on to it. Later when we went back to the hotel, she asked me how I was going to spend all the money I had won.
"I haven't thought about it," I told her.
"We're going back to Womengo, your father and I. But I don't think you should go with us. You've graduated from high school. You've earned good grades. You love books. There's a fine college in Anchorage. You must go there and study."
This was all new to me. Never before, never since I had graduated from the school in Ikuma, had she said anything about my going on with my studies.
"What would I learn in Anchorage?" I asked her.
"To be a teacher."
"Teaching what?"
"Everything! Your marks are good. You can be a good teacher in any subject."
"That's what you always wanted to do," I said.
My mother's eyes clouded over. Was she thinking about the day her high school geography class had gone to Womengo on a field trip? The day she had first seen my father at the Trading Post, the morning he was telling one of his fanciful tales, the time when she had fallen in love with him, with his red cheeks, his broad shoulders, his rich, rumbling voice?
"You could come back to Norton Sound and help our children," she said. "They're caught between two worlds, their own and the white world."
She paused, suddenly aware that I was still in the race, driving a team of sled dogs through the night, runners singing, my headlamp searching out an icy trail.
"You need to sleep," she said.
"For days," I said.
But next morning before the sun was up I was out with the dogs. I was too excited to sleep. I cooked them a meal of whale oil and fish. All of them except Black Star sniffed at it and turned away. I had made the mistake the night before of feeding them beefsteak scraps from the banquet. Black Star went down the line from pan to pan and nearly foundered himself. It was the only time I had ever seen him conclude that his stomach was full.
Mr. Weiss and Mr. Gibson gave a five-course breakfast for my family and me. I ate little of it. I was still on the trail. Mr. Weiss and Mr. Gibson talked about next year's Iditarod. I listened but said nothing.
After breakfast Mr. Weiss had the plane ready for us.
"Leave the dogs," he said. "There isn't enough room. The plane will pick them up tomorrow."
"I would rather take them back myself," I said.
My father and I harnessed up the team while my mother watched. We would meet again in Ikuma. Then we would pack two big sleds and take the trail back to Norton Sound and Womengo.
Our goodbyes were silent. The morning was clear with a brisk wind from the sea. The red lantern was wrapped in a caribou robe. The silver dollars were packed in a big wooden barrel. The $2,500 check I carried in my parka, fastened to the lining with a safety pin.
I felt richer than I ever thought I would be. I was happy that my father was going back to Womengo and the sea he had fled. But most of all I was happy about myself. I was not the same person who had left Ikuma long weeks ago. How I was different, I didn't know. But it was there, deep inside of me.
The trail had a thin coating of snow. The sun was warm. I wanted to take my time and see the river and the hills I had only glanced at before, but Black Star was full of fire, so I shouted "Go!" and let him run with his tail straight out and his ears pinned back, scooping snow as he ran.